


Nowhere Near Normal

by jarediscronchtastic



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, Next to Normal - Kitt/Yorkey
Genre: After Connor's death, Changing POV, Connor died in junior year not senior in this one, Gen, Semi-Vent Fic, The main DEH storyline doesn't really happen, based on Next to Normal, sorta Zoe/Evan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2019-07-20 20:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16144886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarediscronchtastic/pseuds/jarediscronchtastic
Summary: Based on the musical Next To Normal.Cynthia struggles with the fact that her son has passed away, believing that he's there beside her, his death like a hazy memory, something that wasn't quite real.Larry tries his hardest to support his family as he watches his wife slipping away, day by day.Zoe is sick of her family being a mess, and just wants to be happy for once, have a normal family.Connor refuses to be left behind in the past.And Evan, well, Evan just wants to make Zoe happy.





	1. Just Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia tries to be the perfect mother for her children, the perfect wife for her husband, providing her family with the perfect life.

 -Cynthia POV-

_One year and seventy-two days.  That’s how long it’s been. How long since my son died.  I know he’s gone, I really, I truly do. But… but is he really?  Those letters, the emails, reading them, the ones I found, I can feel him, I can feel my own son with me.  I see him every day, leaving his room, getting breakfast, his shoelaces always untied, and he reeks of pot.  I chastise him daily about that, asking if he’s high, and he laughs, saying ‘not right now!’, causing me to sigh and give him a kiss on the cheek before he’s off to school._

 

_Except he doesn’t really go.  Because he’s not here, he’s not alive, he’s not real, he’s gone.  Instead, every day, I offer the air a ham and mustard sandwich, staring off as the door doesn’t open or close behind his nonexistent body, chasing the bus as he used to every morning._

 

I wipe my eyes; I spent a half hour crying in bed.  I go downstairs, hearing some noise, and I’m curious, finding Zoe getting a can of Redbull from the fridge.  I curse myself for not disposing of them earlier, but then again, I’ve stopped making proper dinners. I’m a horrible mother, not caring for my own daughter, letting her put these chemicals in her body and- I cut myself off.  These are the thoughts Dr. Jenson would tell me to try and tell to shut up.

 

“Zoe?”  

 

She turns to see me, not looking too surprised, takes a sip of the drink, and shuffles books and papers in her arms.

 

I want to pluck the can from her hands, but I don’t.  “Sweetheart, is… is everything alright?” _If nobody will ask me, I’ll ask my children- after all, their lives are far more important than mine, aren’t they?_

 

“Everything is _fine_ ,” she scoffs, waving her can around, and I can hear the liquid sloshing around.  “Why wouldn’t it be? My teachers, which are _fine_ , gave me eight hours of homework.  Which is totally _fine_ !  Two calc assignments, an essay on To Kill A Mockingbird, a chem lab, _and_ a quiz in history on the French revolution… totally fine!”  Zoe laughs dryly, and finishes her drink, slapping it down on the counter, marching off towards her room.

 

I grab her arm before she’s gone, concerned.  “Honey, just... calm down, okay? If you can’t finish it all, that’s okay, I’m sure your teachers will understand-”

 

“And play the dead brother card?” She snaps, a book flying out from her hold, and moves her face to mine. “Oh, would you look at that, you didn't fucking forget that Connor is _dead_!”

 

A small gasp comes out, and I want to yell at her, but I’m so, _so_ tired… “Sweetheart…”

 

Zoe bites her lip.  “Sorry, Mom,” she mumbles, and picks up the book that fell on the floor, moving around me, to go upstairs, leaving me alone in the yellow light of the kitchen.

 

I slowly move towards the counter, and pick up the can, holding it in my hands, unsure why I picked it up in the first place.

 

“Zoe’s been drinking this shit?”  Connor enters the kitchen from the living room, shaking his head.  “God, she’s wild.”

 

“She sure is,” I respond distantly.  “She sure is.”

 

Connor takes the can and tosses it in the trash, then lifts himself onto the marble counter, swinging his long legs like he would as a child.  

 

“Don’t stay up too long, okay?” I tell him, patting his knee, and he nods.  

 

“Goodnight, Cynthia!”

 

“Goodnight, Connor.”

 

I wake up, noticing Larry is out of bed.  It was the first time we had sex in three years.  I’m not quite sure why I decided we should, but I think I’m glad we did it.  Zoe thinks we don’t love each other, and maybe she’s right, maybe I’m only with Larry for our kids.  Or maybe I do love him. I pull my robe around me as I slide into my slippers, hitching up my nightgown as I do so.  

 

As I pour a fresh pot of coffee into my mug, I smile as Connor puts on his shoes, simultaneously towel-drying his hair after his morning shower, and Larry knots his tie as he crosses the living room to the dining table.

 

Zoe comes in, tired, tying up her hair, holding a paper in her hand.

 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Connor teases, but Zoe ignores him, eyes fixed on the paper.

 

“I have the date for my recital, you guys coming?”  She looks hopeful, and I nod, pouring coffee in my mug, only to realise I already poured some.  It splashes out, and coats my hand. I put the mug down and grab a dishcloth. “I’ll put it on the calendar!” I assure her, wiping my hands.  

 

She narrows her eyes, staring at the calendar on the fridge.  “Mom, it’s _still_ showing October of two thousand fourteen.”  

 

“Oh… um..”  I look at it, and she’s right.  “I see.. Um.” _Why am I- am I losing it?  I must be going crazy_ …

 

I pour a couple extra mugs of coffee, for Larry, Zoe, Connor, and I.  I keep pouring, not knowing why, more, more, more.

 

I faintly hear Larry calling my name as the coffee spills over the edges of the four mugs, staining the table, dripping onto the floor.   _I have to be a good mother, take care of breakfast for my family, I have to be a good mother, I have to be strong, I have to-_

 

“Cynthia!”

 

My head turns, and I see Larry looking at me concerned, Zoe worried and confused, and Connor’s face is neutral.  I look down, seeing the mess I’ve made. “I..” I clutch the table, clenching my eyes shut, feeling a bout of dizziness overtake me.

 

“Mom?  Dad?” Zoe comes towards me, but Larry puts a hand on her shoulder.  

 

“Zoe, it’s alright, your mom is fine, go ahead, alright?  You’re gonna be late,” Larry tells her softly, but Zoe doesn’t leave.

 

Connor touches my hand as I grip the dishcloth I used to clean my hands.

 

“I’m okay!” I exclaim, batting him away, then obsessively wipe the table.  “Everything’s fine! You two have to go to school, now, okay?”

 

“Two..?”  Zoe whispers, and I barely catch it.  Larry shakes his head at her, and nudges her towards the door, Connor behind her.

 

Larry comes to my side, lifting some mugs out of the pool of brown liquid.  “Cynthia… How about I take off work and we go pay a visit to Dr. Jenson, alright?  Does that sound good?”

 

I nod, and catch my breath.  “S-sure…”

 

“You’re going to be alright,” he says.  “You’re going to be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shit, I'm sorry.
> 
> -Jared


	2. Everything Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe gets to school early to play her music, but gets interrupted by a shy stranger.

-Zoe POV-

 

 

I open the door to the music room, inhaling the scent of the instruments of various materials, woods and metals, and of course, the aged sheet music.  The dust on the piano shines in the early light and- I stop, scribbling this all down in my pocket notebook.  _ This would make for a nice song, wouldn’t it? _  I like coming to school early.  Not only do I have extra time to work on my music, I also can avoid all those annoying people who wanna be friends with me because I have money and a dead brother.  Mom doesn’t even think he’s dead half the time, which is really fucked up. I check the time, I have thirteen minutes. 

  
  


Zipping open my guitar case, I pull out the beautiful instrument, a pale blue guitar I got for my fifteenth birthday.  I hook the lightning bolt-covered strap over my head, letting it rest comfortably against my neck, and I begin to strum, letting my fingers enjoy the sensation of the strings again.  I’ve had so much work lately, so my time to practise has been split nearly in half. 

 

I begin to play a song I started to write about Connor’s passing.  Sometimes I wonder if he even deserves to have a song, the way he treated me.  And then I think that I’m being unfair to him, and I continue to write and play the song.  I might perform it at my recital if I have the chance, after jazz band plays. It would be a bad idea, I decide, the genre is way off. 

 

When I play the guitar it’s like the world floats away, and there’s nothing else there, only me and my guitar, alone in the universe.  (That would make another nice title.) I write it down as I momentarily set aside the guitar. 

 

I close my eyes, going back to playing, singing softly under my breath.  “Why should I play the grieving girl and lie, saying that I miss you, and that my world has gone dark without your light-”  I stop, trying to think of words to go with it.  _ Ugh!  What am I even doing, though? _

 

I need to focus on jazz band, screw my own songs, they don’t matter.  I’m gonna be in the back, and I need to make those in the front look good by matching their pace, no, being even  _ better _ , this way I can get some scholarships, Juilliard, probably.  Or maybe Yale School of Music. Or Harvard. Mom and Dad want me to get into a ‘smart kid’ school.  Something they probably assumed  _ Connor  _ would go to.  Well, if he actually went to his classes and didn’t skip to smoke pot or whatever.

 

_ Perfect, perfect, perfect, I need to be perfect.   _ I keep playing, I’ll keep playing, not caring if it sucks away my life, I need to be dedicated to music, and once I get in to a good school, once I make my parents (who half the time don’t even bother with me, it’s always ‘Connor, Connor, Connor,’) happy for once. 

 

My music gets louder and louder, and I feel my emotions pouring into it- and then I slow down, slowing to a gentle strum again, knowing that it’s not my place to put my entire self into the music because I’ll never be noticed for it.  It’s never about me. It’s about the horn players, Andrew and Greg, the bassist, Alyssa, and the drummer, Kyle. Nobody cares about the guitarist. I go away, and it’s all about them. I’ll always be the invisible girl in the background, playing her silly blue guitar.

 

The door creaks open, startling me, and I expect to see Mr. Contrell, but instead, it’s this blond kid I’ve never seen before.  

 

Great.  Now I have to start all over.

 

He gives me an awkward wave.  “Um, you, uh, you’re pretty, um, you’re pretty good,” he says, stumbling over his words.

 

A bit embarrassed, I turn away, placing my fingers back to where they were.  “Thanks…” Realising that he’s not going anywhere, I put out my hand. “Zoe.”

 

“Y-yeah, I know, I, um…” He pauses, and looks like he wants to shake my hand, but keeps it firmly pressed to his side.  “Evan.”

 

I lift an eyebrow and move away slightly.  “You know? That’s kinda stalkerish, don’t you think?”   _ Oh.  Of course he knows.  I’m the dead kid’s sister.  Everyone knows the dead kid’s sister, Zoe Murphy _ .

 

Instead, he chuckles.  “Yeah, I, uh, I’ve sorta actually gone to school with you since we were in elementary school?  I’m a year ahead of you, but you always used to perform at assemblies and stuff?”

 

I shake my head, starting to play again.  “Creepy,” I mutter.

 

“O-oh, okay…” he says dejectedly and leaves, head down.

 

_ Jesus _ .  “Wow, you give up easy!”   _ Poor kid _ .

 

Evan returns, scratching at his arm.  “You’re… kinda confusing. Wait, wait, sorry, no, that was rude, I mean, I, I uh-”

 

I laugh, genuinely, and shrug.  “Nah, it’s okay. No need to say sorry.”

 

“Sorry!” Comes his immediate response.

 

“You say sorry a  _ lot _ ,” I point out, still laughing as I play.

 

He opens his mouth, then clamps it shut.  “I know,” he says finally in a small voice.

 

“You can stay if you like,” I invite, not quite knowing why.  “Just.. don’t talk.”  _ No wonder people call you a bitch _ .

 

However, this makes him happy, and he nods, sitting on a nearby stool, watching me play for the last seven minutes I have before class.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, sorry, it's short and sucks.
> 
> -Jared


	3. Who's Crazy/My Psychopharmacologist And I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia visits her psychopharmacologist and continues to worry about her ability to be a proper parent.

 

-Cynthia POV-

 

“Cynthia Murphy, here for Dr. Jenson,” I say, shifting my purse on my shoulder as I speak to the receptionist.  She nods, her gold earrings catching the light as she bobs her head. 

 

“Mrs. Murphy, you may take a seat, Dr. Jenson will be with you shortly,” comes her curt reply before she turns to help another customer.

 

I take out my phone as I wait, sitting on a plush chair in the waiting room.  I’m not really checking my phone, but using it so I don’t look so helpless while everyone else reads a magazine or eats a candy from the little bowl beside the tissue box.  I close my eyes, sighing, wondering if I should’ve told Larry I’d be fine on my own. Of course I wouldn’t be, I haven’t been able to drive for the past year once these ridiculous symptoms began to take over my whole damn life, making me crazy, but I would prefer not to spend another twenty-minute ride of Larry either arguing with me or acting condescending, or both.  

 

Suddenly, the heavy glass door opens, and Dr. Jenson walks out, giving me a slight wave.  

 

I stand, adjust my cardigan around my shoulders, and follow him back to his office.  As we walk, he attempts to make small talk, but I’m barely listening.

 

When we get to his office, he shuts the door, and gestures with his hand to a seat.

 

I select the usual spot, a bright blue armchair of velvet, which clashes with the deep red of the walls.  I always wondered why he would choose something that would make his room look like something out of a circus-themed dream, but maybe it’s just that I’m so used to having everything in my home be arranged just so, everything is colour-coordinated.

 

“So, how have you been, Cynthia?” He props his slightly scuffed Oxfords onto his desk, staring at me with his dark brown eyes.  They always unsettle me, those eyes. The iris blends into the pupil to the point that it looks like his eyes are searching inside me.  Nothing so extreme as looking into my soul or whatnot, but seeing through me whenever I lie and say I’m fine. Experience has taught me to be honest about my symptoms.

 

“Not well,” I admit, positioning my purse carefully beside the chair.  “I’ve gotten quite a few headaches, I’ve felt numb, I get nauseous-”

 

“Loss of appetite or any weight gain?” Jenson interrupts, clicking the top of his pen a couple of times, which pisses me off, but I’ll never say that out loud.

 

“Both.”

 

“I see.”  He scribbles something down.  “Cynthia, you’ve been taking-” he stops, checking again.  “Twenty-five milligrams of Zoloft, ten milligrams of Paxil, fifteen of BuSpar, and… point twenty-five milligrams of Xanax.”  He doesn’t hide how stunned he is at the extensive list of medication, despite being my psychopharmacologist, the one who told me to take all of these in the first place.  “I would like to add two milligrams of Valium to this list, as well. It will help in decreasing your anxiety.”

 

“Like all the others are supposed to,” I grumble.

 

If he heard me, he doesn’t show it.  “There are some side effects, dizziness, drowsiness, sexual dysfunction, headaches, and-” 

 

His voice vanishes as I get lost in thought again.  Here I am, the stupid psychotic mother. I can’t look after myself properly, not without drugs anyhow, let alone two children and a husband.  I’m crazy, is what I am. I hold on to the hope that I can be well again, well enough for my family, but I’ll never be. Was I ever? People tell me that I’m not a good enough mother for Connor, that I’m the reason why he’s gone.  To that, I laugh, and tell them that they’re the crazy ones, that Connor is right here, to see how handsome my son is and how proud of him I am, but then they look at me and walk off, cruel whispered words fluttering behind them like trails of smoke.  I can’t cope half the time, those days when I feel like nothing is real, like I’m walking in a dream. I wonder if Larry and Zoe and Connor can cope with someone like me in their lives. I’m a shitty mother if I can’t get a grip, I’m a shitty mother if I’m crazy.  That’s what they all say, ‘Cynthia Murphy, the incompetent mother, it’s her fault, it’s her fault that-”

 

“Use may be fatal.”

 

Dr. Jenson’s eyes are like deep, dark pits as he says those words.  Connor is beside him-  _ how did he get in here?  He should be in school! _ \- “Use may be fatal,” Connor echoes Dr. Jenson with a sneer, swiping his hand across the desk, sending papers flying.

 

I move to pick up the papers, but Dr. Jenson is undisturbed, or just doesn’t notice.  

 

I look back at Connor, wanting to reach out to him for some reason, but something heavy inside my chest weighs me down, so I stay.  

 

Dr. Jenson hands me a piece of paper with my new medication and dosage scrawled on it in ballpoint pen.  

 

Slowly, I take it, letting the words burn into my eyes, into my brain.   _ Only crazy, bad mothers need drugs _ .  “I can’t- I don’t feel anything, I’m- I’m all numb,” I whisper, feeling my sweat soak the paper where my fingers grip it.

 

He smiles, nodding.  “Patient stable!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was kinda tricky to write, so I'm sorry that it is pretty bad.
> 
> -Jared


	4. Perfect For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan tries to convince Zoe that they can be a couple.

 

-Zoe POV-

 

It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve been hanging out with Evan, and it’s a bit awkward, I’ll admit.  He’s a fidgety mess all the time, but I find him adorable. I never would’ve expected that, to be with a guy-  _ shit, am I with him- with him?  _ Who is not some big, masculine man.  Instead, I have an anxious dork. 

 

He opens his door to his room, a small room with a desk, a dresser, and a bed.   _ Much  _ smaller to what I’m used to.  “Um, this, this is my room,” he says nervously.  “We, we can just do homework, or whatever.”

 

I give him a polite smile.  “Sure, sounds good.”

 

We sit on his bed together.  Well, not together. He’s at one end, I’m at the other.  He stares down at his hands clasped in his lap, tapping the ground with his feet as I read, trying not to watch him over my book too much, slightly annoyed by the unrhythmic beats his feet make against the wooden floor.

 

_ Tap, tap, tap _ . 

 

I set my book aside, ready to tell him to stop, when he leans over, leaning in, leaning in for a  _ kiss _ .

 

Alarmed, I turn my head, which makes him move back, blushing.

 

“I-I’m so, I’m so sorry,” he stammers, waving his hands in front of his face.  “That was to-totally out of line, and I-I-”   
  


_ Deep breath, Zoe, don’t yell at him, don’t.. Don’t be like Connor who couldn’t hold himself back from screaming and being an ass _ .

 

“I can’t do this,” I say, trying to be as calm as possible.  “Dating, romance,  _ boys _ , no, no  _ distractions _ .  My life, it’s a series of fuck-ups, disasters, this is just another one, I’m a disaster and-”

 

Evan hesitantly puts a hand on my knee.  “You, you aren’t a disaster,” he assures me, looking into my eyes.   _ Why does he have to act so perfect? _

 

“Well, I kinda  _ am _ ,” I start, but he shakes his head.

 

“You know what’s a disaster?   _ Forests _ .”

 

_ Oh.  Great.  An environmental nerd.  Perfect! _

 

“Like, everyone is cutting down trees, cutting down  _ way  _ more than necessary, and it’s just not right!  That’s a disaster, they’re ruining perfect ecosystems, the people who promote this are disasters, the people who slaughter innocent plants... ”

 

He seems to notice my disinterest and trails off.  “Sorry, I.. I know, people don’t- I get way too over-the-top about…” Evan clears his throat, and reaches for my hand.  “What I’m trying to say here is that, well.. I love you, Zoe!”

 

_ Oh my fucking god.  You have got to be kidding me _ .

 

“What?!” I screech, yanking my hand back.

 

Evan groans and stands up.  “Ugh, sorry, sorry, I just, I just thought that maybe, maybe if I just told you about some of the things I’m passionate about so we don’t just talk about jazz- ohgodwait not that jazz isn’t bad, no, no I love jazz, I love  _ you _ , shit, I- I just meant that maybe, maybe I- um..”

 

“This is the worst seduction  _ ever _ .” I comment, but I can’t deny my amusement and how I find him ridiculously adorable.

 

He puts his face in hands.  “I messed up, I know, I just, I want to be perfect.”

 

I smile slightly and stand with him, taking his hands.  “You are perfect.”

 

Evan sighs, taking his hands back.  “I want to be perfect for  _ you _ .  I’m someone who doesn’t shut up about trees.  I mean,  _ trees _ for heaven’s sakes! But I think, maybe, maybe I can be, well, maybe not perfect, but good enough for you?”  He laughs at himself. “That’s a horrible pitch, isn’t it? No, I, I can be perfect for you!”

 

“Evan..”  I run a hand through my hair.  “You really are sweet, and, and I do like you, but I’m just so stressed out getting ready for college, and my family is just…”

 

He lightly places a hand on my shoulder.  “Zoe, I, I can’t make your life any easier, I can’t fix anything that’s fucked up, but… but I can love you, I can be perfect for you, a-and- and maybe together, if we’re together, maybe you will be happier?”

 

His eyes are shining, hopeful, and I really can’t decline him like this.  Any other boy, any other boy saying all these things to me, I wouldn’t have stayed in his room for another second, but with this stuttering, adorable dork… 

 

Smiling slightly, I go on my tiptoes, putting a hand on his face, the other on the side of his neck, feeling his nervous heartbeat pulse.  “Alright.”

 

“A-alright?”

 

I giggle, bowing my head slightly.  “God, I don’t even know what I’m doing, but.. I can be perfect for you, too,” I say, echoing him.  

 

“Perfect.”  Evan puts his hands on my waist, kissing me softly.

 

***

When we finish working in his room, cuddling on his bed, I look outside, noticing it’s already dark.   _ Shit _ .  I check my phone, seeing it’s almost eight.   _ Dad’s gonna wonder where I am.  Not like Mom will notice, anyhow…  _

 

“Evan, it’s late, I should go,” I say, carefully untangling myself from his hold, gathering my homework and putting it away in my backpack.

 

Immediately, he stands up as well.  “Oh! Um, you want me to walk you home?”

 

I’m about to say no, insist that it’s alright, but he looks so excited, so I let him.  “Sure, yeah. I mean, you don’t have it, it’s kind of a long walk.”

 

He gives me a silly grin, shaking his head.  “It’s no big deal, I don’t mind at all! I, uh, I would like a little bit of extra time with you, I- I mean if that’s cool with you, if you don’t want, then-”

 

Laughing, I take his hand.  “Relax!” I peck a kiss to his cheek.  “Thank you.”

***

While we walk, we discuss music, and I try not to zone out as he enthusiastically tells me about why ‘plants have feelings’ or something ridiculous like that.  I can only imagine Connor calling him a dork under his breath and pushing past him in the halls.  _ No.  Stop thinking about Connor.  He’s gone, and he doesn’t deserve to ruin your present day.  He’s in the past. Gone.  _

 

We arrive at my house, and he tries unsuccessfully to hide his awe at our stupidly massive house.  

 

“Your house it’s… it’s really nice,” he says, mouth hanging slightly open, unable to peel his eyes away.  “M-may I, um, come in?”

 

I’m about to say yes, but then I think about my mother, and all the ways she can ruin everything with her stupid brain clinging onto the past, clinging onto  _ him _ .  “Ah… no,” I say abruptly, reaching into my pockets for my keys.  

 

“Oh.”  He scratches the back of his neck, blushing.  “Sorry, I, I shouldn’t have, um…”

 

_ Goddamn it _ .  I quickly kiss him on the mouth, and I can feel him tense with surprise.  “Thanks for walking me back, Evan, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Bye!”

 

Before he can say another word, the heavy wooden door is closed on his face.  I lean against it, letting my bag slide from my shoulders to the ground.  _ I wonder how long this ‘relationship’ will last _ . _  I can tell I’m gonna fuck it up in seconds _ .  

 

I stand up finally, and head to the stairs when I see my mom’s figure by the window, and it hits me all at once that she was  _ watching  _ me.   _ Jesus fucking Christ _ .

 

She notices I spotted her and walks towards me, reaching for me, but I swerve out of her way, ignoring the guilty look on her face.

 

_ Ugh _ .   _ Nothing will ever be perfect around here _ .

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story isn't getting a lot of hits, but I still like writing it, so... yeah.
> 
> -Jared


	5. I Miss The Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia misses the way her life used to be, misses the way she used to feel.

 -Cynthia POV-

 

I feel ashamed as soon as Zoe’s hurt eyes meet mine, and let out a heavy sigh.

 

Connor taps my shoulder, and I spin to face him with a start.  

 

“So,” he drawls, smirking, “Spying on Zo, now, are we?  Charming.”

 

Rolling my eyes, I watch after her as she goes upstairs.  “She has a boyfriend? When did that happen?” I face my son again.  “Do you think they’re in love?”

 

He shrugs, scratching the back of his neck.  “I dunno. But, hey, they’re young and horny, heh, kind of like you and Larry, huh?”

 

My mind brings me back about eighteen years ago to when Larry first proposed.  We were walking in the park with coffees, he had just gotten off of work, his first week as a lawyer, and I was still in school.  

 

_ ‘Marry me, Cynthia,’ he had said, dropping to one knee, placing his latte aside on the grass. _

 

_ ‘What?’ I laughed, incredulous.  ‘Larry, stand up, you’re being ridiculous!’ _

 

_ He shook his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out a simple silver band.  ‘Cynth, marry me. Let’s start a family, buy a nice little house!’ _

 

_ I blushed and covered my face.  ‘Honey, we, we can’t, we’re still-’ _

 

_ ‘Young?’ he finished, raising an eyebrow.  ‘I’m practically twenty-three, and you’re approaching twenty-two!’  Larry placed a hand over my slightly rounded stomach. ‘This is a sign, okay?  That we’re meant to be.’ _

 

_ I snickered.  ‘Maybe it’s a sign we should’ve gotten better condoms,’ I mutter jokingly. _

 

_ Larry laughed and inched the ring towards me.  ‘I love you, Cynthia.’ _

 

_ ‘This is crazy,’ I huffed, grinning, and allowed him to place the ring on my finger. _

 

_ He stood up and kissed me, accidentally knocking over his latte in the process.  We both burst out laughing as he bent down to pick it up. Larry easily tossed it in a nearby bin, then took my hand, kissing the back of it.   _

 

_ ‘I love you, too, Larry.’ _

 

I shake my head of the memory, and instead walk to the bathroom, Connor at my heels.

 

My mind drifts again to when I was a bit younger, nothing was baby-proofed, or handled with care.  Nothing was drowned out by Zoloft or Xanax. Back when I could… I could  _ feel _ .

 

Flicking on the light to the bathroom, I run my hands through my hair, staring at myself in the mirror, spotting all the gray hairs and wrinkles.   _ I really must be getting old _ .

 

I miss when I felt sad, or angry, or distressed, or… anything.  Anything other than  _ numb _ .  I don’t know who I am anymore.  I’m reduced to this body of flesh and bone.  I’m not myself anymore.

 

And it’s all because of those fucking pills.

 

Opening the medicine cabinet, I reach for my medication.  Something in my heart burns faintly, like this should trigger a memory of some sort, but there’s nothing there.  I brush it off. 

 

I nod to myself, and pluck bottle after bottle off of the shelf, everything labeled with ‘Cynthia Murphy,’ and soon, I have about a dozen orange plastic bottles in my arms.  Setting them down on the vanity, I begin to open them, one by one. 

 

I miss having emotions.  I miss pain! I miss pain!  I’m so sick of drifting along in some sort of gray haze of nothingness!

 

There’s a rainbow of pills before me.  Pale blue, white, yellow, minty green, a delicate lavender, a rosy pink, and a chalky orange.  All in different shapes. Ovals. Circles. Squares. Triangles. 

 

I hate feeling safe, I hate that to be ‘safe’ is to be absolutely devoid of feeling.  I take a shuddering breath, then lift the lid of the toilet.

 

It’s all too perfect here, where nothing is dangerous or scary.  It’s a fantasy world. It’s fake. It’s a dreamworld. It’s all in my head.  It’s not real. Nothing is real. Pain makes you know you’re there, if you can feel, you are there.  But if I can’t feel, then what am I? I look at my hands, pale, and wrinkled, like my face. 

 

Each bottle gets emptied into the toilet, and I watch some of the pills begin to dissolve rapidly.  

 

I miss pain.  I miss my old life.  I miss who I was before all  _ this  _ took over.  Before I lost myself.  I miss  _ me _ .

 

A hand on my shoulder causes me to jump.

 

Whirling around, I come face-to-face with my son.  “Oh! Connor! You surprised me!”

 

He peers into the toilet over my shoulder, and my stomach sinks.  

 

“You think I’m being crazy.  Maybe I am, I just-”

 

Connor shakes his head.  “No, no, no. You’re  _ not  _ crazy.  What you are is strong and  _ brave _ for doing this.”

 

I sit on the rim of the bathtub, head in my hands.  “Oh, what will your father think? Surely he will tell me to check myself into an institution, or something…”

 

“He won’t think anything,” Connor says calmly.  “If he doesn’t know.”

 

He’s right.

 

Standing up, I look back into the toilet.  My reflection stares back at me. It’s the face of a woman who doesn’t know what she is doing with her life anymore, but who knows that she wants to stop being stuck in a world of safety and gray.

 

My hand hesitates over the flusher.  “Maybe I-”

 

“It’s too late now,” Connor reminds me gently.  “This is a good thing, remember? You’re being strong.”

 

And with that, he flushes countless pills down the toilet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: This is in no way to suggest that pills are bad, in fact, medication can be extremely helpful. People may think that they will strip away your feelings, but they typically do not. They help to ease the extremes. This is, of course, not a healthy course of action to take if you believe that your medication isn't useful.
> 
> Anyway, awfully sorry that it's been so long since I've last updated!
> 
> -Jared


	6. It's Gonna Be Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry POV.
> 
> Larry tries to convince himself that everything is good when in reality, he's not so sure.

_ ‘It's gonna be good _ . _ ’   _ The phrase echoes in my head like a mantra.  ‘It's gonna be good.’  _ G-O-O-D good. _

 

I look helplessly towards the photo of Cynthia, Zoe, and Connor on my desk, lightly touching Connor’s face, a half smile peeking at his lips.

 

I glance up at the time on my computer, then stare down at my desk.  “It's gonna be good,” I mutter. Cynthia, she's gonna be alright. Her meds, they're working out perfectly. And Zoe, Zoe, is great. Everyone is okay.  It's all good. 

 

A small voice in the back of my head calls out a warning, but I push it away, grunting with frustration.

 

Fuck it.

 

I stare at my cell for a moment, then I finally pick it up, dialing for Cynthia’s number.

 

“Hello? Oh! Larry, hi, guess what?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“I just vacuumed the whole house, fixed the damned leaky faucet in Zoe’s bathroom,  _ and  _ I started learning how to knit!”

 

_ What the- _

 

“Anyway, everything’s good!  Great! Wonderful!”

 

“That's-”

 

“Okay, bye!”

 

I blink, dumbfounded, as the call disconnects.  After a couple of seconds, I peel the phone away from my ear and set it down, shutting it off.

 

_ She's great, she is, everything's all good, as she said, right? Right.  Right! _

 

_ ‘Cut the crap _ , _ ’ _ says a voice in my head.   _ ‘You're just bullshitting yourself _ . _ ’ _

 

No.  It's good.  It is! She's improving.  Nothing is wrong. We have great sex, she's happy, she's gotten back into cooking, it's great, she's great!

 

_ ‘The more you tell yourself that doesn't mean you're going to believe it more.  Nor will it make it true. After all, isn't that what happened with-’ _

 

Growling quietly, I lightly smack the side of my head with the palm of my hand.   _ Focus.  Think positive. _

 

Unable to handle this, I stand up from my desk, and close my laptop, tucking it into my briefcase, and slip my phone into my pocket.  

 

I ignore stares from my coworkers as I pass them in their cubicles.  “I'm going home early. Family thing,” I mutter to Roseanne, my boss, who looks up, surprised.  

 

“Yeah, uh, sure.  Have a good-”

 

I don't stay around to hear the rest of her sentence.

 

\---

By the time I arrive home, I notice Zoe on the porch swing and…  _ is that her boyfriend that Cynthia has been telling me about?  What's his name? Hm. _

 

“...Listen, I just… I don't think it's a good time to meet my family,” Zoe says, wringing her manicured hands in her lap

 

“What do you mean?” The boy asks softly, looking hurt.

 

She sighs.  “I mean, we've only been together for-”

 

“Nine weeks, three days, and two hours,” he replies automatically, then covers his mouth.  “Sorry. No, it's just. Um. I think it's fair? Because, like, you've met my mom, so…”

 

Zoe gives him this look, almost like she pities him.  Poor kid.

 

“Zoe!” I call, putting on a smile.

 

“Dad?” She looks confused, and stands up.  “You're home early-”

 

I gesture towards the shy-looking blond.  “And this must be Devin!”

 

“His name is  _ Evan _ .”   _ Who said that?  That sounded like- no.  No, Larry. That's not your son.  He's… he's gone. _

 

“ _ Evan _ ,” I correct myself.  “Uh, why don't you come in?  Join us for dinner?

 

“Oh!”  Evan waves his hands in front of his face.  “I'm s-sorry, I-” he looks over at Zoe, who shakes her head. “I have.. homework?” he offers lamely.

 

“He has to have surgery!” she says loudly, grabbing his cast-covered arm.

 

I ignore their protests.   _ A good family sits together for dinner, and it's even better if there's a friend, right?  When's the last time Zoe has had a friend around? _

 

“It's gonna be good,” I insist.  “A good, fun meal!”  _ Who am I trying to convince here? _

 

Zoe looks like she doesn't believe me, but also full of panic that Evan is here.   _ Why? _ _ Is she embarrassed of him?  Of  _ us _? _

 

“It's gonna be real good, Larry,” comes a dry voice.  I brush it off, widening my smile as I open the door for us.

 

Cynthia’s eyes widen, then she smiles.  “Oh, hello, Evan! And Larry, what a lovely surprise to see you home early!  I made Connor’s favorite! Lemon roasted chicken!”

 

My heart practically stops, and I gulp.  

 

Zoe doesn't even seem to notice.

 

My eyes land on the extra table setting.  I quickly urge Evan towards it. “Um, here!  Looks like Cynthia was prepared for you, huh?”

 

_ Shit.  Shit, shit, shit.   _

 

I thought she would've… why would she have forgotten?  Why would she have forgotten it’s Connor’s birthday? Or… was.   Of course she remembered. But… but why did she make-

 

_ Uh-oh _ .  I feel sick.  The meds. They aren't working.  Did they at all? Was she faking?  Is she… is she even taking them anymore?   _ Oh, god.   _

 

There's an awkward silence during the meal.  Evan looks scared out of his mind, Zoe looks mortified, and I'm trying to focus on eating and absolutely nothing else.  Cynthia seems oblivious.

 

I think it's all over when the last of the chicken is finished.  When the dishes are cleaned in the sink.

 

But just as I finish my glass of wine, I see Cynthia come in from the kitchen.  I almost drop the glass onto the table.

 

It's a goddamn birthday cake.  

 

Cynthia never even made Connor  _ or  _ Zoe any cakes.  But…

 

The Connor that has been lingering in the corner of my eye all night vanishes as the flames of the candles swarm my vision.  “Cynthia-” I start, but she ignores me.

 

“It's  _ someone's  _ birthday!” she calls cheerfully.

 

Evan looks curiously at Zoe.  “Whose-”

 

“My brother’s.” she says, staring down at the table, gripping the end of the tablecloth.  “It's… it's my brother’s birthday,” she whispers.

 

I notice tears begin to slip down her cheeks.

 

Evan wrinkles his forehead.  “B-but-”

 

“Evan,” Zoe whispers as she begins to tremble slightly. 

 

He looks worried and frowns.

 

I go over to console her, putting my hand on her shoulder, but she swats me away.

 

Cynthia looks over at us, huddled, and sets the cake down on the table.  “What is it?”

 

_ This is not good.  This is not good at all. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I have more free time, so my fics should get updated more frequently now... hopefully.
> 
> -Jared


	7. He's Not Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry attempts to convince his wife that their son is gone, but he also must accept it.

 

I cast a look over to Zoe as if to say ‘I’m sorry’, then go over to Cynthia, taking her hand.  “Cynth, he... he’s not here,” I say gently. “You have to let go.” I feel choked up as I say this, but I take a deep breath.  “You have to let go.”

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Evan put his hand on Zoe’s back, and she leans into his hold.

 

Cynthia frowns, starting to shake her head, but I place my other hand on her cheek, forcing her to look straight at me so hopefully, I can get her to understand.  Get her to come to terms with it all as I have. Or, at least, as I’ve been trying to. “He’s been..” I can’t get the word out. It’s so hard. “He’s-” Tears well up in my eyes, and I drop my hands, wiping my eyes.  This is the first time, I realise, that I’ve cried in front of Zoe, or, at least since… God, I can’t even say his name, let alone  _ think  _ it.  It hurts too much.

 

Of course, I sobbed like hell, but not in front of her.  Never. I had to hold myself together. Be strong. Did that make me look like a shitty father who didn’t care?  Yeah, probably. But I did care. I  _ do _ .  I cried alone. 

 

“He’s  _ dead _ ,” I finally manage to squeak out.  “He’s been dead for two years, Cynthia.  He’s gone.”

 

She turns to the wall, gazing at a photograph of us all, the Christmas before Connor died.  I take a step closer when Zoe’s broken voice pierces the air.

 

“I hate this stupid fucking family!”

 

“Language, Zo-” I begin to scold, but remember how I always tried with Connor, and that would result in slamming doors and hearing the wall being punched over and over, the noise making me sick to my stomach, knowing my son was in pain, but I was too… too  _ what _ ? Too  _ something _ to help, to take away his pain.

 

“No!” Zoe growls, standing up, tears causing her mascara to run down her cheeks.  “We aren’t the fucking Brady Bunch, you know? Fuck this. Fuck everything. I mean, it’s either Connor is screaming that he’s going to fucking kill me, or now, that Mom thinks that he’s still fucking here after he fucking killed himself!”

 

The room goes dead silent.  She looks between Cynthia and me with blazing eyes, then to Evan, who looks like he’s a mix of scared and sympathetic.

 

Cynthia sinks down into the nearby armchair, a hand over her mouth as she cries.

 

“I-”  _ Who do I go to?  My wife, or my daughter?  _   I reach for Zoe, but she shakes her head, sniffling.  

 

“Not now, Dad.  Just.. not now,” she whimpers, then races up the stairs.

 

Evan stands as well, nervously.  “I.. um.. n-nice to meet you? Um… I’m just... I’m g-gonna go after her… um, yeah.”

 

I’m too drained to even speak, so I just nod.  

 

He scurries after Zoe, leaving Cynthia and me alone.

 

Picking up my glass from the table, I pour some more wine in, gulping the whole thing down. 

 

“Cynth.”  I crouch down before her.  “What’s going on? Aren’t, aren’t the new meds helping?  I thought they were.”

 

She scoffs dryly, waving her hand about.  “Well, our  _ toilet  _ is now cured, at least.”

 

_ Shit _ .  I wince and grasp her hand.  “I thought.. they were helping, they  _ were _ ,” I insist.

 

Cynthia rolls her teary eyes.  “No, they were  _ not _ .”

 

I stand, still holding her hand.  “No, this is okay, let’s just call Jenson, we can get your prescription refilled, or, or we can go make an appointment-”

 

“No!” She yanks her hand back.  “No. No more.”

 

She’s never yelled at me like this.  

 

“Okay.”  I put my hands up in surrender.  “Okay. Listen, I get it, it’s hard, but-”

 

Cynthia laughs and points at me.  “ _ You _ ?  What the hell do you know, Larry?”

 

“I know that you’re in pain.  And so am I,” I whisper.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post this one rather quickly.
> 
> More Larry chapters to come. I like writing his point of view. Actually, I think he and Cynthia are my new favourites.
> 
> The next chapter might be posted later today, or tomorrow, as this is really short, and I wrote the other one along with this one. I still want to revise it and stuff, though. 
> 
> I typically write fics with the scripts open when necessary, like if I want to follow certain quotes, but since this fic is basically just a Dear Evan Hansen version of Next To Normal, I've been relying on the Next To Normal script a lot. For the first time in this fic, I also had the DEH script open. I probably shouldn't be saying all that because it sounds like I'm wildly uncreative, but. Eh.
> 
> Anyway. Keep your eyes out for new chapters...
> 
> -Jared


	8. You Don't Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia expresses her frustration about Larry and how he deals with his emotions.

“Bullshit!” Cynthia roars.  “You didn’t give a shit about him!”

 

“What?”

 

She narrows her eyes at me.  “You said he was just asking for  _ attention _ ,” she snaps.  “And when we found him?  When the nurses told us the news?  At the goddamn funeral? You didn’t cry.  Not. Once. What is it, huh? Were you too  _ proud _ ?  Were you scared that people were gonna realise that big ol’ Larry Murphy has a heart!  Or is ‘caring’ not masculine enough for you?”

 

“Now, hold on-”

 

Cynthia scowls and crosses her arms.  “Do you even know what my life is like now?  I mean, I wake up every morning, and it takes me ten minutes to even get out of bed because I’m stuck thinking, ‘hey, why should I get up?  What’s the point if my own son is dead?’ but then I have to. Because of Zoe. Because I’m still a  _ mother _ , and that’s what mothers do!  I am hanging on by a thread, Larry.  Any moment, I will snap. I can’t stand this.  I can’t. It’s so hard.”

 

I feel my heart break inside, but I can’t make my mouth form words.  I try, but… I can’t. So, I just let her talk, unable to soothe her own pain.  

 

“You can’t expect me to believe that you understand what it’s like to be in pain when you have never given a shit about life.  You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You’re selfish. You never even cared about  _ him _ .  He was an embarrassment to you.  And now, you can’t even bear to say his name or talk about him.  It’s like he was never your son.”

 

It’s as if she stabbed me, I literally stagger backward, my eyes growing wide.  

 

“You don’t know what it’s like to live in so much pain,” she mutters.  “That’s why you never showed a shred of love for him. Because you never understood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this when I posted the previous chapter, but wasn't sure if I wanted to post it just yet. But here it is! Sorry it's super short.
> 
> -Jared


	9. I Am The One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry POV (continued), he continues to try and convince his wife that he is there for her, but can't seem to shake off the voice that has begun to creep into his mind.

  
  


My heart is breaking.  “Oh, Cynthia... I.. I did, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I wasn’t..”  _ What do I even say?   _ “Everything seemed to be going so well, and now..” I reach for her tentatively.  “Can I hug you?”

 

She pulls away, giving me my silent answer, and looks away.  I can tell she’s fighting back tears.

 

“I know you’re upset at me, but I never meant to hurt you.  You  _ or  _ him.  But.. he’s not here, okay?  I am, and I can help you get through this.  I’m so sorry.” I realise that I haven’t felt this heavy or tired since his funeral.  I hate this guilt, but I deserve it. But she doesn’t understand how awful I feel. “Cynth, you think that I don’t care, but I do, I really do.  And I’ll always be here for you.”

 

I suddenly feel someone watching us, but I can’t turn away from Cynthia.  “I’ll say it again, I mean, you really think that my heart doesn’t burn every goddamn day whenever I think of him, or see his face in photos?”  I hear my voice quaking, ready to give in to sobs, so I stop.

 

A voice begins to poke at my head.  “Hey, Larry. You’re hurting? I can help with that,” it says quietly.  

 

I ignore it,  _ him _ , knowing that it’s fake.  “You’re in pain? Well so am I!”

 

“Because so am I,” murmurs the familiar voice.

 

I move slightly closer to Cynthia.  “What can I do for you? What.. what will make you happy?”

 

“Look at me, Larry,” comes a soft coo.  “Look at me.”

 

I squeeze my eyes shut.   _ No _ .  “Just, tell me what to do.  Because believe it or not, I give a damn about you, I love you.  So much.”

 

“You don’t give a damn about who I am,” the voice says bitterly.

 

_ Stop, stop, stop, go away! _

 

Cynthia slowly looks back at me.  “You say you hurt like me, that you know what it’s like, but you don’t know, you really don’t.”

 

Desperation rises in my words. “You don’t know who I am!  You think I don’t, but I do, I do! I’ve always been there for you, I know you, I love you, and you think that all that means nothing…”

 

She scoffs and crosses her arms.  “Just go, Larry, okay?”

 

_ I won’t let her push me away like this, she has to understand that  _ I  _ understand!  No. If this is what she wants, I have to respect that. _

 

“You just don’t know who I am,” I mutter, beginning to walk away.  

  
Connor’s voice echoes mine, but I shake it off.   _ I’ve had too much wine tonight _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is so short and... kinda sucks. This scene is pretty tough when it's coming from first person POV, and a lot of the song lyrics are hard to work with. It's probably the first chapter so far that I found REALLY tricky to write and don't like.. but whatever, there's more bad chapters to come, and hopefully some good ones, too!
> 
> -Jared


	10. Superboy and the Invisible Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Zoe's perspective. She is in her room with Evan and confesses how lonely she feels through the best way she knows how- through song.

 

“God!” I exclaim, pacing in my room.  “I hate when my mom gets like this. It fucking sucks.”

 

Evan just gives me a sympathetic look, and I sigh.

 

“Sorry,” I mutter.  “Told you I was fucked up,” I add with a dry chuckle. 

 

He shakes his head.  “N-no, it’s okay, I mean, not that- you’re not- I told you this before, you’re not, I sw-swear!  But, um, do you, like.. want to… t-talk? Like, about what’s going on? How you feel...and.. s-stuff.”

 

_ He’s too good for me, Jesus fucking Christ _ .  “This is kinda stupid, but, uh, I’ve been working on a couple of songs, and uh, one of them.. One of them kinda fits, I guess?”

 

His eyes light up.  “Oh! I’d love to hear you sing! I mean, uh, if you want to, that is…”

 

I smile at him gently, then go to pick up my guitar, giving it a couple of test strums, making sure it’s in tune.  “Superboy and the invisible girl, son of steel and daughter of air. He’s a hero, a lover, a prince, she’s not there.”  

 

I stop suddenly, embarrassed, then look back up at Evan, and he nods, prompting me to continue.

 

“Superboy and the invisible girl, everything a kid oughta be.  He’s immortal, forever alive… then there’s me.” Pausing, I lick my lips, trying not to come off as too fucking angry.  “I wish I could fly, and magically appear and disappear. I wish I could fly, I’d fly far away from-”

 

The door to my bedroom opens, and Evan and I both jump with surprise, and I put down my guitar.   _ Shit! _

 

My mom is there in my doorway, looking back at me.

 

Gritting my teeth, I pick my guitar back up again.  “Superboy and the invisible girl, he’s the one you wish would appear, he’s your hero, forever your son, he’s not here… I am here.” 

_ Even though he’s gone, you still act like I don’t exist, and that  _ he  _ does _ .   _ This is bullshit _ .  

 

Mom looks shocked, and moves towards me.  “Zoe, honey, you know.. you know that’s not true.  I love you.”

 

I stare at her angrily.

 

“I love you.. as much as I can,” she says slowly.

 

_ Fuckin’ hell _ .  

 

She understands what she’s said and leaves.

 

Evan gets up from where he was sitting on my bed, and lightly touches my arm.  “Zoe?”

 

My instinct is to push him away, but I can’t do that.  I pull him in for a tight hug. “I wish my parents wouldn’t just ignore me like this.  But no, even then, it was always Connor. It’s bitchy to say that, to whine about how my parents only paid attention to my brother because he was all fucked up, and since he died, it’s just been a constant state of grief for my mom, and my dad trying to console her.  But Zoe? Zoe Murphy? Who’s that, you know? Or the people know me call me a bitch. They’re not wrong, though.”

 

“Well, care about you, an-and I won’t- I’ll always be around for you, okay?  Oh god, sorry, that’s clingy, I.. sorry,” Evan mumbles.

 

“It’s okay,” I whisper, taking a deep breath.  “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this chapter. I thought it could be interesting if I used one of the songs as an actual song in the fic, instead of taking bits and pieces from it as I do with the others. 
> 
> As dull as I probably seem, I do enjoy getting messages from people. Feel free to check out my bio for my email address, and you can say hi, or make a request if you want? Or nothing at all, which is cool, too. 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading.
> 
> -Jared


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